New Beginnings
by Sherry Holmess
Summary: POST HLV. Sherlock once said that he wasn't one of the angels, but he's teetering on the edge of becoming one. Someone isn't very happy with the consulting detective, and that someone plans to get rid of the angel in Sherlock and replace it with something much darker. Rated T for future dark emotions and references. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock hung up on his older brother, their conversation ringing in his head.

'For God's sake, make up your mind. Who needs me this time?'

Sherlock remembered how Mycroft had paused before speaking again, 'England.'

Then his brother hung up on him, and had left him wondering what the hell is going on. He had no clue what could've made Mycroft sound...nervous. His elder brother didn't believe in emotions, so hearing fear laced in the other's words made Sherlock's stomach turn.

'It's safe to say...the game is on!' He thought to himself with a small grin. Oh how he loved to play the game. There was always something to look forward to, especially when there was a great opponent. He missed the thrill of trying to get one step ahead of the enemy. Magnussen was a tough opponent of course but he didn't bring the thrill that Irene and Moriarty had.

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts as the phone went off again. He sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. He picked up the phone and answered it without thinking.

"What now?" He snapped.

"Sherlock?!" A worried voice of John sounded from the other end. "What the hell? What's going on?"

Sherlock raised a brow as he spoke. "I don't know any more than you do. I'll figure it out once I get out...surely I must've landed by now. I'll be right out."

"You...of course you didn't bloody notice. Sherlock, the plane went right by us and wouldn't stop. We don't know what's going on. Are you okay?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but quickly shut it again as a metal object gently touched the side of his head. A click was heard.

"Sherlock? SHERLOCK?"

The consulting detective ignored his friend's panicked voice and hung up the phone. A deep voice chuckled and the metal object was pulled away.

"You're lucky my boss said not to hurt you. Anyone would want a chance to make you _scream."_

Sherlock turned his gaze towards the voice and observed the man. He had dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes. His posture and the way he held himself said that he was from the military. The way his fingers from his right hand twitched towards his left arm indicated that he was right handed and that he was going through withdrawals. The gun in his right hand also supported that he was right handed.

Sherlock glanced down at the man's shoes and narrowed his eyes. The man wore expensive clothing but had extremely worn out shoes. That told the consulting detective that the man was very wealthy yet he didn't buy expensive shoes because they would not last very long. Conclusion: this man was either an assassin or a sniper. He regularly got mud, sand, or even blood on his shoes. Sherlock decided that the man was most likely a sniper do to the type of gun he was holding.

"Up we get, Mr. Holmes," The man said with a smirk, gesturing to the door with his left hand. Sherlock instead glanced out the window and saw that they were now on the ground. They weren't that far from where his brother was.

The man raised his gun up to Sherlock's head again, sighing, "If you won't come yourself I'll just have to knock you out."

The raven haired man rolled his eyes and stood up. "Who are you?" He asked. It was apparent that he wouldn't get an answer when the man gestured to the door again. "Come on. Off you go."

Sighing, Sherlock obeyed the other man and moved towards the door. A hand grabbed his arm and kept him in place, and he spun around with a glare. "I'm cooperating."

The man smiled and fished a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. Sherlock eyed them with a distasteful frown. "Dull." He muttered.

The man shrugged and roughly yanked both of the consulting detective's arms behind his back before snapping the handcuffs on. "Just a precaution. And don't try to break out of those, they were made just for you."

The raven haired detective was then pushed towards the door, causing him to stumble over his feet. After balancing himself again, he glanced over at the man and gave him a glare.

"Aw, don't be like that." He grabbed Sherlock's collar and pulled him down so that they were face to face. "This isn't the worst you'll go through." He then pushed him away again, tapping at his wrist impatiently. "This was fun and all, but my boss is probably getting impatient. Moving on..."

When Sherlock made no move to walk towards the door, the sniper-man just sighed before scooping up the detective and throwing him over his shoulder.

"Put me down," Sherlock spat, wriggling around to get away. The man chuckled and wrapped an arm around the other's frame. "Nah, I don't think so. Maybe I should've put a gag in your mouth. The type of gag I'm thinking of would've looked _lovely_ on you."

Sherlock snarled and tried kicking but the man ignored it and made his way out the door. "My boss is extremely disappointed in you. And when he's angry, there is hell to pay."

The two struggled down the stairs and outside as he said this, the warm air and shining sun making everything seem much more innocent then it was. It looked like a children's book. Sherlock was the brave hero "letting" himself get kidnapped by the evil guys, and soon he'll defeat them and live happily ever after.

If only it were that simple.

Sherlock could probably escape, but he didn't know where he was. Running away from his captors would be an idiotic idea until he was sure he could find a way back home. As he contemplated his thoughts, the other man suddenly stiffened. The snarky attitude from him seemed to disappear.

"Sir." The man said, using a much flatter tone. The detective felt curiosity consume him and he tried to turn his head to see who the man was talking to.

"Seb!" A voice exclaimed, sending a shiver down Sherlock's spine. "I see you've acquainted yourself with my new toy. Let me see him."

"Seb" shrugged and picked the detective off of his shoulder before letting him crash onto the ground. Sherlock landed on his front, and struggled to get to a better position. Foreign hands grabbed him by his shoulders and flipped him over.

Brown eyes met silver, and the game began.


	2. Chapter 2

John was worried. He was _so_ worried.

Before Sherlock had hung up, there was a faint noise in the background. Either John was just a really paranoid person or he had heard the safety being switched off of a gun. Now of course, John Watson was a fairly calm man. He had his bad days, the days where he felt like committing murder but doesn't everyone? The army doctor did his best to remain level-headed in this situation but he, of course, failed and panicked. He probably would have had another "bad day" moment if it weren't for Mycroft, who put his hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Let's be calm about this," he said. John had always admired that about Sherlock's brother. The tone of voice he used had always made it sound like he was a teacher talking to a classroom full of first graders. Oh, did he say admire? He meant hate.

"Right, fine," John said sarcastically. Oh how he wished to punch the elder Holmes brother's nose right now. "It's easy for you to be calm when someone you care about is in danger, right? Oh wait...I forgot that you _don't_ care about anyone!"

Mycroft's face still showed a cold indifference, but his eyes lit up with quiet fury. "You think that your "caring" with bring my brother back here on demand? Oh, do tell me how that works out for you. I, for one, am going to do something useful instead of wasting precious time by caring."

John brought his fist back, ready to let out all of his anger on Mycroft's ugly face. He was right about to punch him when Mary got between them. "Okay! That's enough! Let's act our age."

Mycroft watched her for a moment, a series of emotions flickering past his eyes before he finally nodded at her and gestured to the car. He then preceded to go around the front side of the car and slipped into the passenger seat. John moved to follow him but was stopped by Mary.

"John..." she started, biting her lip as she considered her next few words. It seemed that she's been doing that a lot lately; pausing to make sure that her speech wouldn't cause her husband to lash out.

That made John feel a little guilty. He had just realized how moody he's been the last few months, with his best friend being shot by his partner, thinking that Sherlock would suffer an awful punishment for what he did, and now the moron went and got himself kidnapped. So, it's not like John was being mean because he felt like it. Still, he knew that he needed to cut Mary some slack. The woman was doing her best, and John had took it for granted. They had an odd relationship.

"What is it?" He asked after a long pause.

Mary's eyes trailed upwards until they rested on the sky again. The last place that they saw the great consulting detective. "Moriarty is alive, right? So it's most likely that he has Sherlock?"

John nodded, his lips becoming a small thin line. "Yeah..."

Mrs. Watson continued to stare at the sky for a few seconds before speaking again, "I can't risk hurting the baby, so I'll need to go home. So I need you to promise me that you'll bring him back."

John blinked in surprise. "Of course I'll bring him back. I'm not bloody losing that bastard again. You have my word...He won't die. Not again."

His wife nodded at him and took his hand before leading him to the car. They then climbed into the backseat of the car and John looked at Mycroft pointedly. The stoney faced man just raised an eyebrow at them before turning to look at the driver.

"First, we're dropping off Mrs. Watson." He said while putting his seatbelt on. No one had even said anything to him about dropping Mary off. John was starting to wonder if all of the members of Holmes family had some sort of genetic mutation that allowed them to read minds. It would explain a lot.

"Yes sir."

Mycroft glanced backwards and met the army doctor's gaze. He seemed to search his eyes for a minute but quickly turned back around. "Next, we're going to Scotland Yard."

* * *

Sherlock stared at the blank tv in front of him, having no idea what to do. He was sitting on a chair. A very comfortable chair, at that. He wasn't restrained or anything, he could walk around the small white room all he wanted, but he just couldn't leave. The door was locked from the outside.

The room was very ordinary, if not just plain dull. There was a bed in one corner of the room. It had beige sheets and navy blue blankets with matching blue pillows. In the middle of the room, mounted on a wall, was an average sized tv set. It hasn't actually played anything but the consulting detective had a suspicion that the tv would become significant later. In front of the tv was a reclining chair which quickly became the detective's favorite spot.

There were two doors in the room. One was the exit, though there wasn't any way to get through it from the inside. The other door led to the loo, which just had a few necessities and nothing more. The place was extremely dull. Only one person had went in there, and that was just a (servant? Employee? Need more data) person who brought him dinner. It went untouched, of course. There was nothing to do in this room and it was driving Sherlock to the point of insanity.

As if sensing Sherlock's boredom, the door opened and a man walked in before swiftly shutting the door behind him. Sherlock turned towards the sound and scowled immediately. "Hello my dear!" A very familiar man said with an dark grin.

There stood James Moriarty, the world's only consulting criminal.

Sherlock said nothing in return. He instead chose to bring his knees to his chest and continue staring at the tv. He needed answers, but he didn't know how to get them.

A very loud sigh was heard, and then footsteps against the soft carpet as the spider approached his new prey. "Not even a hello? Tut tut. What if your little doctor lost his head because of that mistake?"

Sherlock's head snapped towards his voice, glaring at him. "Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"You don't have John, so shut up." The raven haired man muttered, lowering his eyes.

The criminal chuckled. For some reason, his laugh sounded so kind and innocent. Like a little kid playing in a neighborhood playground. The thought of Moriarty being an innocent child sent shivers down Sherlock's spine, so he casted those thoughts away.

"You've been here for hours, sweetheart! John and Big Bad Brother came running right over here to save you." Jim smiled sweetly. "Oh wait, no they didn't. Because neither of them care!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. This? The criminal was actually going to try this? Sherlock had thought better of his nemesis. "Yes they do. They'll be looking for me shortly, they just need time. They're not as good as I am at solving puzzles, unfortunately."

Moriarty shook his head, his smile fading away quickly. "Oh no." He whispered dramatically. "No, no, nooo...You still think that they care? I thought you were smarter than this!" At this, the consulting criminal reached into his pocket and fiddled with his phone for a moment.

Sherlock frowned. He wasn't one to get confused so easily, but he had no idea what his enemy was doing. 'He needs a therapist.' He thought to him self in amusement. 'A really good therapist at that.'

Moriarty finally finished what he was doing on his phone, but then pulled out a remote from his other pocket. He pointed it at the screen and it quickly turned on, showing a footage of John's new flat.

"What-" Sherlock started, but Jim cut him off by putting a hand over his mouth. Having no other solution, the detective turned his attention towards the tv.

_**[TELEVISION FOOTAGE]**_

_**Mycroft slipped out of the passenger seat, and stood on the sidewalk while John helped Mary get out. "Okay, we need to pack and get out of here," John said hurriedly, while grabbing his wife's hand and bringing her inside. The film freezes before showing the inside of the flat.**_

_**"Where are we going?" Mary asked John as they quickly folded her stuff and put it in a suitcase. **_

_**"The Holmes Estate. It'll be safe, and away from Moriarty."**_

_**Mrs. Watson nodded and zipped up her case. "Good." The footage on the tv flickered for a moment as they left the room, and refocused when they went back outside. "There's a different car here."**_

_**John nodded. "Mycroft took the other one. He needs to help stop the panic that Moriarty started. He'll be at the estate later."**_

_**Mary opened her mouth to speak, but the screen went black.**_

_**[BACK WITH SH AND JM]**_

Jim took his hand away from the detective's mouth. "So, what did you think?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Think of what? That just showed the Watson's going to the Holmes Estate."

Moriarty sighed, looking rather disappointed. "Stupid...You need to exercise your brain more." He stared at Sherlock intently before continuing, "Didn't you notice what they're not doing?"

The detective shook his head, causing the criminal to sigh once more. Moriarty was a very person, and it made Sherlock wonder if he was just as ostentatious as his rival. Probably.

"They aren't looking for you. I didn't see your little pet running around in a panic. Do they care?"

Sherlock shrugged indifferently. "Maybe. Maybe not." He met his rival's eyes and felt confusion run through him as he noticed the look of concern in them. 'It's a trick, obviously. Now, what is he getting at...?'

Jim shook his head before turning away from the detective. "Even freaks like us deserve love, Sherlock." He said in a thoughtful tone. He then casually went to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles. A gangly looking man opened the door and poked his head in before nodding and letting Moriarty out. Sherlock made no move to try to escape. He knew there wasn't a point.

As the door closed behind the two, Sherlock let out a quiet sigh. He leaned back against the chair and brought his hands together, as if praying. The criminal's last words were bugging him. Just what kind of game was Moriarty trying to play?

* * *

**Well, there you go. Jim Moriarty lives. Yay.**

**Anyways, I'd like to say thank you to the person that reviewed. You know who you are!**

**If you have any comments, suggestions, or complains, feel free to either message me or leave a review. Reviews will always be welcome! I'll update once a week if possible. If it's not every week it'll probably be every other week. Just be patient my dears!**


	3. Chapter 3

Ahem. Well, I accidentally lied about how often I'd update. For some reason I thought my story was extremely disliked and that no one read it...Well, not many people have read it but that's besides the point. I'm sure there's at least one person who wants to see the ending to this. Here's an update for the few people out there!

* * *

John and Mary climbed into the backseat of yet another car, both seemingly lost inside their own thoughts. Mycroft had told them that they were going to New Scotland Yard, but after a phone call from "unnamed sources," (probably more people who run the government...) he had to change his mind.

'I'll have to work on containing the fear in the population.' Mycroft had said swiftly, tapping away on his cellphone much like Anthea would. 'Unfortunately, that means you'll have to wait about...a week for us to find my little brother. During that time you can work things out with your wife.'

After that, the elder Holmes brother basically kicked them out of the car, got out to make sure they got inside safely, then hurriedly left . As the car disappeared down the street, John got a text. [A different car will bring you to the estate. I'll be around later. Surveillance cameras may be lurking, don't mention plans to rescue Sherlock. -MH]

John glanced around at that and almost automatically noticed a tiny camera sitting in a crack next to the front door of his house. He felt a bit of unease at the thought of a consulting criminal watching his every move. It was even worse to think that his best friend might be with him and who new what kind of treatment he was getting? If Sherlock was any different because of this encounter with Moriarty, the army doctor would murder the criminal himself.

John slowly came out of his thoughts as they entered the flat. Sometime before they made it inside, he had apparently grabbed get hand. It just have been a reflex, considering all the stress that was going on. It was nice to be able to automatically be able to rely on someone and have them rely on you without having an imbalance in the relationship. John wondered if that just came along with all marriages, or if they were a special case.

'It has nothing to do with marriage...' A deep voice inside his head murmured, and it took John only a split second to recognize his friend's voice. He was controlling his thoughts now too, the little drama queen. The voice continued on, sounding amused now, 'We do the same, yet we aren't married.'

John shook those thoughts away. Honestly, it was things like that that made people assume that he was gay. Even he wondered sometimes.

"Where are we going?"

John blinked. He was so caught up in his confusing thoughts about his ex-flatmate that he didn't even realize that they were now packing things into a suitcase. He cleared his throat to hide his discomfort before relying, "The Holmes Estate. It'll be safe, and away from Moriarty."

'Sounds enjoyable. I wish I could enjoy a nice vacation at the estate...Please help...' Sherlock'a voice sounded like he was in a lot of pain, and John mentally cursed at how horrible his mind was being. Even if Sherlock hurt, it would take a lot to make him show any signs of weakness.

Mary grabbed his hand again as they made their way outside. As they exited their home, Mary gave him a nervous look. "There's a different car here."

'Obviously.'

John ignored the voice of his friend and nodded at his wife. "Mycroft took the other one. He needs to help stop the panic that Moriarty started. He'll be at the estate later."

Mary sighed. "And what are we going to do about-"

"Not here." John interrupted, and brought his phone out before showing her the text. Her eyes scanned over the words and her lips turned downwards into a deep frown. John could understand her anger, there was no telling how long they've been watched by that creep. It was a disturbing thought.

Mary met his eyes and gave him a furious look before going over to the waiting car. As they got inside, John felt his phone buzz from an incoming text. Mary gave him an odd look, and her husband shrugged in response.

"Probably Mycroft." He explained with a small shrug. He unlocked his phone and brought up his messages to see what the elder Holmes brother wanted. He was not expecting someone else to text him.

[Would you still love him if I cut his fingers off? Or maybe I could snap his spine. Would that bother you? I wouldn't want to accidentally ruin your...relationship. Lots of love -M]

John sat up, staring at the text with wide eyes. He wouldn't dare, would he? The thought of the consulting detective being harmed by this psychopath made him feel sick. Mary tilted her head at him, looking confused. Shaking his head, he handed his wife the phone before putting his head in his hands.

"John..."

"Yeah, I know."

Mary paused before speaking again, "Call Mycroft."

John nodded before taking his phone back. Like hell if he was going to wait a week to find Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock peered into the microscope intently. He wasn't doing anything interesting, he was just watching blood cells squirm around under the microscope slide. It wasn't interesting at all, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than going back to the drugs that Jim had offered.

Speaking of Jim, Sherlock was finding himself more and more confused about the criminal's intentions. After showing the detective that video, Jim had invited Sherlock outside of his little room and into the dining room. There, the two had lunch.

As they sat and ate, Jim handed Sherlock a few files. At the detective's confused look, Moriarty had explained that they were cold cases from America. Jim had a client that wanted to copy the murders ("Such a dull way to commit murder." Moriarty had mumbled, and Sherlock agreed full-heartedly) and the crime needed to be solved before it could be copied. When Sherlock had asked why Moriarty couldn't figure it out himself, the criminal calmly told him that he could do that but Sherlock had nothing to do and he didn't want to see the consulting detective get bored. Sherlock had then asked why he cared, and Moriarty got up and left without saying a thing.

The next day, Moriarty marched into his room and told him that he had full access to all of the grounds ("there are guards to make sure that you don't leave"), but only if Sherlock would call him by his first name and if he would always meet he criminal in the dining hall during meals. The detective quickly agreed to those terms and didn't regret it ever since. Mori-Jim, as he kept reminding himself, might've been a bad man but Sherlock couldn't deny that he knew how to live. It was like the criminal was planning to keep the detective there for the rest of his life and still be able to entertain him. Jim supplied him with a lab stock-full of chemicals, equipment, and body parts (though those probably weren't from a morgue...Oh well). On top of the lab, Jim provided Sherlock with a violin, and tons of sheet music from different composers, along with blank sheet music that Sherlock could fill in himself. If that wasn't enough, there was tons of books all over the place, tons of cases that Jim allowed him to solve, there were even honey bees in the garden. If Sherlock wasn't currently being held as prisoner, he would've considered this as a perfect vacation.

There were some..bad things about this place too. In the middle of the night, Sherlock could hear people screaming as Jim's men either tortured them for information or tortured them just for the fun of it. On some days Jim would ask Sherlock to help him create crimes instead of solve them. After only three weeks of being there, the detective gave in. He felt guilty at first but Jim seemed so proud of him...like John used to look when he had watched him make deductions to help the police. He had missed seeing that look so much that seeing it again on Jim's face made him feel something close to happiness. At least someone cared. The only thing that made Sherlock uncomfortable was that Jim constantly offered to get Sherlock drugs. ("You must be craving them...Part of the withdrawals, Sherly.")

Sherlock yawned and curled up on his bed. Jim had recently moved him to a bigger, and way better room. A room where he could actually look out the window or when he played his violin, the notes would echo throughout the room. It was perfect for the consulting detective.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

Sherlock jumped up at the voice. Jim slipped inside his room, screaming into his phone angrily. Sherlock wasn't afraid, though. Jim made it obvious that he would not harm the detective no matter how angry he was. Unlike John, who punched him in the face just because he was a little mad.

"...Whatever." Jim hissed before hanging up. He glanced at Sherlock and sighed. "Sorry."

The detective shrugged. "It's...fine." He mumbled awkwardly. He still wasn't quite sure how to reassure someone who was obviously upset. Jim didn't ever mind, though. He was just like him in that sense.

"Do you mind?" Jim asked, gesturing towards the spot next to Sherlock.

"Be my guest." The detective scooted over to allow the other more room. Now that he thought about it, it was odd that he was allowing the criminal so close to him. It got Sherlock wondering if he was being manipulated. Jim must've seen something in his eyes because he sighed.

"Why are you so distrustful, my dear? I'm doing everything I can to make you happy."

Sherlock knitted his brows together in confusion. "Why? I'm not stupid, Jim...You have another motive."

The criminal suddenly snarled and pinned Sherlock down. Not having expected this, Sherlock could only struggle against the other. The anger in Jim's eyes disappeared after a few seconds and was replaced by something else, something that Sherlock couldn't place. Before he could figure it out, Jim climbed off of him and stood up from the bed.

"Sorry." He said quietly. "Bad day...Here." He reached into his pocket and took out a gun. Sherlock immediately tensed up and prepared himself for a shot but instead of shooting him, Jim placed the gun on the bed.

"Do what you want with that." Jim said with a shrug. "Just try not to murder me. Well actually, if you do murder me, try to make it as interesting as possible. That's my only request." With a smile and a wink, the criminal strolled out of the room carelessly, as if he wasn't even remotely afraid that Sherlock would shoot him from behind. Probably because Sherlock wouldn't even think about it.

And honestly, that thought scared the detective the most.


End file.
